In Remembrance
by Greyleaf
Summary: The current P.O.I. makes his living appraising the effects of the recently deceased. Reese and Finch don't know if he's the victim or the perp and they don't have much info with which to work. In other words, this is just like any other case. Right? Takes place before "Zero Day". Non-slash.
1. Chapter 1

Reese was tired. He and Finch had, just a few short hours before, wrapped up a case that had the both of them up for thirty hours straight, the time mostly spent trying to discern perpetrator from victim. And this case was looking as if it would be the same.

It almost made him wish for a straight-forward gang hit.

As usual, Reese both did and did not blend into the crowd. 'Did' because many of the men there were also dressed in black suits. 'Did not' because few of them were his height. Also, from what he'd observed so far, many of them knew or at least recognized each other. Several people nodded to the man who was the focus of Reese's attention since that afternoon. Nodded, but did not approach or even say more than 'hello'. Peter Foy was not _un_attractive, mid-forties, slightly taller than some of the men, his dark hair and beard neatly trimmed. He was supposed to have blue eyes, but Reese hadn't gotten close enough to confirm that. Age and ethnicity-wise, Foy seemed very similar to most of the attendees. His suit, however, wasn't quite the same quality as that of the other men's which made him seem just a little out of place, as well.

Reese absorbed the various conversations around him as he worked his way around the small clusters of people, his mind filtering them for relevance. Those two were talking politics. That group of four discussed the game that had taken place that afternoon. But, mostly, the subject was someone's latest acquisition and what was still on their list and whispered speculations about the items on the table that night.

"Why do most of these auctions attract mostly men?" Reese said as he worked to keep just near enough to Foy to be able to get to him quickly, if needed.

"I'm sure I don't know," Finch's voice said in his ear. "Maybe women find other types of investments more to their liking."

Foy, having already acquired a bidding paddle, appeared to have found the spot in which he wanted to sit. He settled into one of the padded folding chairs about five rows back from the small stage and directly in line with the podium, placing the brief case he was carrying on the floor by his feet. Reese took the seat in the row behind him and to one side, setting his own paddle on his lap.

"So, all these people are investors?"

"No, probably not. It's more likely that most of them are collectors. Meaning they would not be looking to re-sell their coins."

Reese looked around the brightly lit room, taking note of the strategically placed security guards and looking for anything suspicious. The limited seating for this auction meant that Foy had to RSVP some weeks ago. The list of attendees was available on the auction house's web site, so anyone who wanted to keep track of him would have been able to find out where he was that evening. So far, though, no one there seemed to taking a particular interest in him. "Any idea yet who might want to kill him?"

"No, nor whom he might want to kill, for that matter. He doesn't seem to have much of a life outside his job and his coin collecting."

Reese shifted in his chair a little, using the movement to get another look at the back of the room. "Maybe someone at the company he works for? A rival?"

"You usually have to be a threat to someone to be considered a rival," Finch said dryly. "The job of an Estate Appraiser doesn't usually attract Type A personalities, but even in that group Foy seems particularly un-stellar. His expertise extends only a somewhat beyond coins and he's shown little interest in expanding his knowledge since he hasn't done so in all the years he's been doing this job."

There was a stir at the front of the room as an energetic middle aged man, a maverick in a light grey suit, sprung up the step to the dais and tapped a gavel lightly several times on the podium to get the small crowd's attention. The attendees moved to find chairs and the myriad conversations quieted. Reese ostensibly turned his attention to the front of the room, but his eyes darted here and there while the auctioneer gave the preliminary admonitions concerning cell phones. As half the audience pulled out their phones to check their settings, Foy did as well. Reese, too, pulled his out and, under cover of the general rustle of activity and otherwise directed attention, forced paired Foy's phone.

The auction went at a decent speed, the auctioneer keeping the bidding lively and the audience entertained. Foy made offers on a number of coins and was quickly out-bid for all but one of them. Then he set his paddle aside on the empty chair next to him and crossed his arms, apparently done for the evening.

"I'm surprised that he even tried for those other items," Finch murmured, having kept track of the proceedings. "He couldn't possibly have expected to get them for the amounts he was bidding. Looking at his accounts, he's barley able to afford the coin he _did_ get."

Reese watched Foy check the time on his phone and then settle back in his chair.

"Looks like he may have an appointment after this. I think now he's just killing time."

"Well, I don't have anything to tell me where he might be going."

"You weren't able to hack his employer's computers?"

"Of course I was. They just don't keep their appointments in them."

Reese smiled at Finch's obvious frustration. "I guess we'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

Foy got up to leave before the last item came up for bid and headed to the cashier to pick up his coin. Reese followed at a discrete distance, but was able to overhear the conversation with the young woman at the table.

"So, Mr. Foy, looks like you picked up something this time." She used his name without having to ask for his ID. He signed a ledger and handed her his credit card. Waiting for the transaction to process, the cashier, her tone bright and lively, asked, "Does this finish up your collection?"

Foy snorted at the question as he bent over to sign the receipt. "Hardly," he said as he straightened. "But, it is another step closer."

Before Foy could exchange the receipt for the small manila envelope the cashier was holding, Reese took the opportunity to return his paddle. He leaned over, briefly blocking Foy's access to the coin, smiling warmly at the young lady as he handed her the paddle with one hand and dropped a button-sized listening device into Foy's pocket with the other, his body hiding his actions. Stepping back, he ignored Foy's scowl and headed for the exit.

* * *

Reese lounged against his car, to all appearances enjoying the mild spring evening as were most of the other people milling around outside. Foy had come to the auction house by taxi and, emerging from the double doors, headed for the line of cabs waiting for fares. Reese and Finch listened as Foy gave the cab driver an address. Reese got in his car and eased it away from the curb to follow. "Any idea who's at that address?"

There was silence for a few moments. "Well, it used to be the residence of a Jean Gray. She passed away a week ago."

"So, this appointment is business."

"It would appear so. But, since we have no idea who he's supposed to be meeting, it might be prudent to stay close."

* * *

It was fully dark when Foy's cab dropped him off in front of a modest one-story clapboard house with a large picture window and a small front yard. He took the three steps that lead up to the front porch in one leap to knock on the door.

"He looks somewhat eager. I wonder if it really _is_ business." Reese had parked across the street and waited until Foy had gone up the steps before he headed towards the house himself. Whoever Foy was there to meet took their time answering the door, giving Reese a chance to get close enough to find a place to secrete himself but still watch his quarry. The door was opened by a middle aged woman who Foy called 'Ms. Davis'. His words of condolence about her recent loss seemed perfunctory.

Ms. Davis took Foy around the rooms. Since the house was not large, this didn't take long. As he listened to the conversation, Reese got the feeling that Foy wasn't really interested in the things Ms. Davis was telling him about the various pieces of furniture and artwork. After a few minutes, he cut her narrative short. "I was told that your late aunt was a collector, Ms. Davis. What exactly did she collect? Coins?"

"Yes, she did collect, Mr. Foy." Davis sounded surprised. Reese could hear her heels click across the uncarpeted floor. "She collected these."

There was a brief pause. "Porcelain figurines?" Foy didn't even try to mask his disappointment.

"Yes. Porcelain figurines." Davis sounded irritated. "Is there a problem?"

"No, of course not," Foy said, belatedly realizing his mishandling of the situation. "It's just that I'm not really an authority on figurines. I'll have to get one of the other appraisers to come out to look at them." If Foy thought he could smooth things over, he was mistaken.

"You mean that I'll have to take more time off from work?" Davis' tone was icy. "It takes me two hours to drive out here. Your office assured me that this could be taken care of _tonight_, Mr. Foy. I don't appreciate the fact that you've wasted my time."

"I'm sure we can have someone out here within the hour, Ms. Davis," Foy said. "Just give me a few minutes."

While Foy called his co-worker and basically begged and cajoled her to help him salvage the account, Reese began to wonder about this man as a P.O.I.

"Finch, given the way it's been acting lately, are you sure the machine hasn't made a mistake?"

"In what way?"

"Foy hardly seems the type of person _any_ one would plan to kill, though it might happen out of pure frustration. And as far as him being the perp? I can't imagine he'd be that ruthless."

"He does seem to be rather ineffectual. But, there may be someone in his life who would want him dead."

"A relative, maybe?"

"His only sister, Diane Wilson, passed away three years ago. Her husband preceded her by five years. They have a son, Steve, Foy's nephew. He's a student at a local community college. There are no other relatives."

Reese rubbed his eyes. He was feeling the lack of sleep. He could only imagine how Finch was doing. "Could the nephew be the perp?" he asked. "Maybe there's an inheritance."

"I suppose it's possible that Foy's coin collection could be worth something. If it is, though, it's not reflected in the amount of property insurance he has."

"Okay. Maybe the nephew's the victim?"

"To what end? A twenty year old college student is unlikely to have anything Foy would want."

"Trust fund?" Reese was grasping at straws.

Finch sighed. "I've looked, Reese. No trust fund, no life insurance policy, no property. No offshore accounts." Now Finch was straw-grasping as well. "Maybe you're correct. Maybe the machine _is_ wrong." He paused. "In which case…," he stopped, Foy having ended his call.

"There, Ms. Davis. My coworker, Carrie, will be over in thirty minutes. She's just finishing up another appraisal. Not far from here, in fact. In the meantime, I'll work up an appraisal on the rest of the items." Foy was almost obsequious. "Would that be okay?"

Since it was apparent that Foy was in no immediate danger from Davis, pissed though she was, Reese went back to his car. Foy walked through the rooms again, asking the questions he should have the first time around. Reese could see him through the picture window, clipboard in hand, pausing occasionally to peer more closely at certain items.

"Foy seems capable of taking his job seriously, after all," Reese commented.

"Yes, as long as he keeps a tight reign on his collection obsession."

There was a pause. Reese straightened as a thought occurred.

"Finch, what about…"

"Right. Another collector. I'll check. Maybe he has a feud with one of them. Maybe someone who out-bid him this afternoon."

"Well," Reese said, now having doubts, "there didn't seem to be anyone at the auction who paid him any attention."

"Still, it _is_ another possibility."

While they were talking, a car pulled up to the curb, parking under the street light in front of the house. The woman who exited from the driver's side was well dressed, her dark blue business suit accented nicely by the gold earrings that glinted against her dark skin. Overall, she had a far more competent air than Foy. He met her at the door, greeting her and promising, _sotto voce_, to 'make it up' to her.

Inside, Foy introduced the two women and then promised to have his appraisal ready in the next couple of days. Before he left the room, Reese could hear Carrie give Ms. Davis her condolences, sounding far more sincere than Foy had.

Foy had just come back down the steps, briefcase in hand, when his phone rang. He stopped under the streetlight, pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the display. There was a distinct change in his expression.

"Steve. How's my favorite nephew?" The friendly words belied his scowl.

The voice on the other end was young and a little nasal. "Funny, Uncle Peter." Steve's tone was that of strained tolerance rather than affection. "I'm your only nephew."

Foy's chuckle sounded forced. "So, what's up?"

"I'm still waiting for you to get back to me on that collection of Grandpa's. You said you'd get an appraisal done in a week. It's been two."

"Yes, well, I've been busy, Steve."

"You're always 'busy'." Foy's nephew sounded exasperated. "You know, I could just do this on my own. I could take a picture of it and put it out there on the internet. Someone's likely to …"

"No, Steve," Foy cut the young man off. "You don't want to do that. The internet's full of scammers." For the first time Reese heard a genuine emotion in Foy's voice – worry. "I can't, in good conscience, let you do that."

Steve sighed. "Then, get that expert you promised me. He should have been available by now. Besides, I thought _you_ knew something about these things. You even told me, when you saw them, that they should be worth a few hundred. And I really need that money."

Reese watched Foy intently, wondering what game he was playing. The other man had started walking back and forth, obviously agitated, his breathing a little heavy.

"Okay. Tell you what. I'll bring him by tonight, after he gets off work. You left the case at your Grandfather's, right?"

"Yeah. It's got better security than my apartment. It's got a special key and everything."

"Right. You showed me." Foy was a little calmer. "So, what time do you want to meet?"

"Well, I'm headed to my 8pm class, so, say 9:30?"

Foy ended the call, then immediately dialed up another number. After a couple of rings Foy started pacing again. Finally, someone answered.

"Klenk." The voice was male and annoyed.

"Howard. It's Peter."

"What do you want?"

"We have to do it tonight." Foy stopped pacing.

"No. You said tomorrow. Tonight's no good."

"He's getting impatient and I can't risk the little bastard finding out or letting someone else know."

"Okay. Fine. But, I want a bigger cut."

Foy started pacing again. "What? You…" Foy didn't finish that thought. "Okay. Five more."

"Seven or I won't show."

"Fine! Okay," Foy took a breath. "Seven."

Howard still sounded a little put out, as if he was being inconvenienced. "Where?"

At this, Foy hesitated. After a brief pause, he went on. "I'll meet you in the usual spot. 9pm. I'll tell you then. We'll take your car."

Foy made another call, but this time it was for a cab to pick him up.

"Finch?" Reese asked quietly. "Who is 'Howard Klenk'?"

"I don't know who he is, Reese." Finch's voice was heavy with suspicion. "I _can_ tell you that there is no one by that name at Foy's office. I can also tell you that, whoever he is, he uses a burner phone."

A cab pulled up next to Foy. Getting in, he gave the cab driver an address they recognized as Foy's apartment.

"Since we don't have an address for 'the usual place' and we've got," Reese checked the time, "almost two hours before Foy meets up with Klenk, I guess I'll be tailing him 'til then. If I stay close enough, I might hear something we can use." Reese started to turn the ignition key.

"Actually, Reese, I have another idea. I've been able to identify the 'Grandfather' Steve mentioned. He's the young man's paternal grandfather, Zachary Wilson, who died a month ago. Steve is the sole heir." Finch was speaking rapidly. "Since the nephew is safe for the moment, I propose you go to the Grandfather's place." He took a breath. "It's not far from the library."

"Why?" Reese was intrigued by Finch's apparent enthusiasm for this idea. "To look for this 'collection'?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese. I want to confirm a motive for murder."

* * *

"Okay, Finch. Now what?" Reese was standing at the door of an apartment on the ground floor of a brownstone in an old, established neighborhood. Gaining entry to the building had posed no problems. But, he was not going to be able to get in to the apartment so easily. "The lock on this door is not the kind I can pick. It requires an electronic key and a pin number." Reese glanced down the hallway at the other door of the back apartment. "I checked the windows – they're alarmed. The door's fairly heavy, too. I won't be able to break it down without attracting attention."

"Yes, I'm familiar with this type of lock. The company that put it in also monitors the security system. If the correct key and pin combination are not used, the alarm is triggered." Reese could hear the faint tell-tale sound of Finch tapping on his computer keyboard. "If the homeowner looses the key or forgets the combination, they can contact the company and, after correctly answering some questions, the door can be unlocked remotely." Finch's voice was full of admiration. "It really is a beautifully designed system." Just then Reese heard a soft click. "There."

The smaller items that had been in the living room had been removed, if the marks on the carpet were any indication. The remaining pieces were large, heavy and mostly dark wood with slightly lighter upholstery. The partially drawn curtains on the front window allowed only a little light from the street, so Reese used his small flashlight to make a quick check of the living room, looking for any signs of a wall or floor safe. He ignored the kitchen, betting that what he was looking for would be in the bedroom, the favorite hiding place for most people.

That room, too, had only a few pieces of furniture, also large and heavy. Even the mattress had been removed and the open closet doors showed that the former occupant's clothes had been removed as well. Since the bedroom was at the back of the apartment and away from the street, Reese tuned on the lamp on the dresser to aid his search. It took him all of one minute to find young Wilson's prize. "It was behind the dresser mirror in the bedroom," he told Finch as he placed a wooden case on the dresser. "Apparently, Wilson has a lot of faith in that security system."

"And well he should. It's a very good one."

Reese raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting. The case was elegant in its simplicity: a rich mahogany with a framed glass top revealing coins, nine in all. They were nestled in a royal blue tray, each in its own place.

"I'm not sure these would be worth killing someone for, Finch." Reese gazed down on the coins. "The case looks more valuable than most of these coins."

"A coin's condition can be secondary to its rarity in determining its value." Finch sounded amused. "I take it you've never been a collector."

"Not of coins, no." Reese said absently as he picked up the case to get a better look. "I usually collect things that fire projectiles." He angled the case a little under the light. "These all seem to be from the same year."

"Which?"

"1929. Different denominations. Most of them aren't in very good shape." Reese looked closer. "I guess the two gold ones might be worth something." He set the case back down. "Does that give you enough information to find out anything on them?" There was a long pause. "Finch?"

"Reese, I'm coming over."

Reese was astonished. "Why? If you need to see them, I could send you pictures."

"The photos won't show the details I need and it would take time for you to describe each of them." Finch must have been moving to the exit, his breathing was slightly labored. "You're not far. I'll be there in five minutes."

* * *

Finch had set the opened case under the lamp on top of the dresser and now stood holding one of the gold coins in a white gloved hand, looking at it through a jewelers' loop. Reese watched him, trying not to show his impatience. "Well? Is this collection valuable?"

Finch placed the coin back in its spot in the case and closed the lid. "Yes." He removed the glove and put it and the loop in his suit coat pocket, then he turned to look up at Reese. "These coins are worth considerably more than the 'few hundred' Foy told his nephew."

"I take it that Foy wouldn't be able to afford their actual price."

"Not in this lifetime. And, as we heard him say, he couldn't risk Wilson finding out their real value."

Reese studied his employer for a minute. "Just how much _are_ they worth?"

Finch looked down at the case. "I'm no expert, but I would say most of them are worth several hundred _each_. But, _this_ one," Finch indicated the coin he had examined. "This is a St. Gaudin's twenty dollar double eagle. It's quite rare." He looked up at Reese. "Not long ago, a St. Gaudin's minted in 1933 was sold at auction for over seven million dollars." Reese looked at him in stunned silence as Finch continued. "Now, this 1929 coin wouldn't fetch nearly that much, but, in the right auction, it could well set the young man up for life."

Reese took a moment before he spoke. "So, now we know Foy is definitely the perp and why. And, this 'Howard Klenk' is probably the guy he's hired to kill Wilson."

"For a 'cut'." Finch looked back down at the coin case. "Do you think Klenk knows what these coins are worth?"

"No. Foy didn't even trust him enough to give him the address."

"I wonder that he would take the risk that his hired killer wouldn't later discover the value of the coins." Finch looked back up at Reese. "Klenk could blackmail Foy for more money, knowing he had it."

"We have to decide what we're going to do." Reese checked the time and put the coins back in their hiding place. The two men started to move towards the bedroom door. "Wilson's class will be over in a half hour. We can't afford…" He stopped. There were voices at the front door which got louder when the door opened.

Reese and Finch stared at each other for a millisecond. Then Reese, a blur of decisive movement, stepped over to hit the light switch, grabbed Finch rather roughly by the arm and pulled him into the closet, sliding the slatted bi-fold doors closed. He had Finch move to the back of the closet and as he did, he dislodged a cane that had been forgotten in the corner. Finch caught it before it hit something. The two men listened as the voices moved into the living room and the door closed.

"Thanks for coming tonight, Mr. Klenk," Wilson's young and nasally voice said, becoming more clear as he moved towards the hall. "I know you're busy. And I appreciate that you could change your schedule."

After a pause, Foy's voice piped in. "Well, if you thought this was important enough to skip your class, it's the least we could do." Reese wondered if Foy was genetically incapable of sounding sincere. "Right, Howard?"

There was a pause, then another voice said, "Yeah. Right. The least we could do." He still sounded annoyed.

"Well, let's go get the coins," Wilson said. "They're back here."

The bedroom light came back on and Reese, peering through the door slats, could see the three men as they entered. Wilson, a bushy headed youth in jeans and a t-shirt was first, followed by Foy. The third man, presumably Klenk, was a study in inelegance; everything about him seemed mismatched. His gruff voice should have come from a more intimidating frame. The dark suit that hung on his thin shoulders was a style years out of date and he looked decidedly out of place in it. His thin and pale face was marked by acne and his stringy blonde hair needed washed. But, the detail that Reese was most interested in was the bulge in one of his suit coat pockets. As he watched the three men, his mind ran through all the options. If it was just him and the conspirators, he wouldn't hesitate to tackle the two of them. But, with Wilson and Finch there, he had to consider the risk that one or both of could be taken hostage or shot.

Wilson went to the mirror to retrieve the coins. Klenk started to pick at one of his acne sores, stopping when Foy glared at him. Wilson turned back to the two older men, case in hand. "Here it is." His voice was eager. "What do you think?"

Reese knew he had to act or Wilson would be dead. He looked over at Finch and gestured for him to stay where he was. The light through the slats cast horizontal bars across the older man's face. Clutching the cane and looking resigned, he nodded. Reese pulled his gun from its holster and slowly slid the closet door open and stepped into the room.


	2. Chapter 2

It was as if he was looking at a photo-realistic painting, the lamp by the door illuminating the tableau with a warm yellow light. Wilson and Klenk each with both of their hands on the case; Foy, standing on the other side, had one hand reaching for it as well. It was as if all three men were frozen in that moment and they all had their attention fully on the coin collection. They did not see Reese.

So Reese cleared his throat.

Almost as one, the three men turned to look at him. Each of them had somewhat different reactions. Wilson's expression went from eager to confused. Foy's went from expectant to surprised recognition. Reese took note of them, but it was Klenk's reaction that most interested him.

Klenk's acne pocked face went completely blank. He blinked once and then his eyes went to Reese's gun, which was pointed directly at him. Reese, wanting to keep control of the situation, started to say something when the thin man finally reacted.

Klenk growled and his face contorted in rage. He released his grip on the coin case and, with a speed and strength that completely defied explanation, he grabbed Foy by both arms and threw him bodily in Reese's direction. Reese, his instincts supplanting his surprise, moved to one side as Foy hit the floor with a thud and a cry of pain. Wilson, to that point seemingly rooted to the spot, bolted through the doorway, coin case tucked under one arm. At the same moment, Klenk launched himself at Reese.

Reese swung his fist, still holding the gun, and connected solidly with Klenk's jaw which sent him staggering back to bounce off the side of the solid wood bed frame to land heavily on his back on the floor, knocked unconscious. Reese went over and checked the man's coat pocket. Expecting to find a gun, he was a little surprised to find a knife. Using the thumb stud, he opened it, revealing an evilly curved and serrated edge - just the thing for a quiet, if brutal, death. Closing it, Reese slid it onto his own pocket and turned to look for Foy.

He was sitting up, looking at Reese in confusion. They briefly locked gazes. Then Foy's eyes darted to a point behind Reese and, with a look of abject fear, he turned and scrambled into the closet on all fours. Reese whipped around in time to keep Klenk from blindsiding him, grabbing the thinner man and dropping his gun in the process. The two of them grappled, Klenk exposing his brownish teeth as he growled again. Reese managed to swing the lighter man around and down, smacking his head against the dresser top. Klenk went limp and Reese let him slump to the floor. He quickly retrieved his gun and moved to the closet.

The two occupants were each pressed back into opposite corners, facing each other. Finch was using the cane to hold Foy at bay, the tip of it pressed into Foy's throat. Finch's jaw was set in determination. Foy's face was set in a mix of astonishment and fear.

"I've got this now," Reese said, putting his hand on the cane's wooden shaft. Finch breathed deeply once, twice, then slowly lowered his weapon. Reese holstered his gun and pulled Foy into the bedroom then pushed him against the wall next to the closet. Foy gasped, his eyes wide, as Reese used his forearm to keep him pinned.

"I-I know you. I saw you at the auction," Foy said, looking up at his captor. He licked his lips. "What do you want?"

Reese raised an eyebrow. Softly, he said, "What we want, Peter, is for you not to kill your nephew."

Foy's eyes widened even further and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly several times, making him resemble a bearded fish. Finally, he found his wits and tongue.

"I wasn't going to kill him!"

Reese continued to look at the man, saying nothing.

"Honest!" Foy brow was sweating now, but he made no move to wipe his face.

Reese's voice became even softer. "You didn't hire Klenk to kill him so that you could have the coins?"

"No!"

"Then why is he here?"

"He was pretending to be a coin expert." Finch had quietly appeared, standing slightly behind Reese. Foy's eyes flicked to the smaller man and then back to Reese. He rubbed at the red mark Finch's cane had left on his throat. "It was just a scam. I swear!"

"A scam? How was this scam supposed to work?" Finch asked. Reese noted, with approval, that Finch showed no signs of the strain he must be feeling after his close encounter in the closet.

"Klenk was supposed to give Steve a low estimate for the coins. And then I would offer to buy them."

"How much was the estimate supposed to be?"

"Three hundred dollars."

Finch's silence caused Reese to glance at him. Finch was staring at Foy with distinct disapproval.

Foy realized they must know something about the coins' value. "I was gonna give him five hundred." Foy licked his lips again, his eyes darting between Reese and Finch. "You know. Because he's family."

Reese pressed Foy a little harder against the wall. "If Klenk wasn't going to kill your nephew, then why did he have this?" Reese showed Foy the knife, thumbing it open and holding its serrated edge mere inches from his face. Foy visibly paled.

"I-I-I don't know." Foy's eyes flicked to where the other man still lay on the floor. "Klenk's a little…odd."

Reese pocketed the knife, then jerked the man away from the wall and got him moving toward the living room, keeping hold of his collar.

"What are you going to do to me?" Foy sounded as if he were beginning to panic.

Back in the living room, they found the front door wide open, Wilson not bothering to close it in his adrenalin fueled sprint for safety. Finch stepped over quickly and pushed it closed.

"Don't you think we should secure Klenk?" Finch said softly to Reese as he joined him back in the center of the room.

"He should be out for awhile. I'll take care of Foy first then go back in for him." Reese reached into his pocket to retrieve a zip tie. "Besides, I've got his weapon." Reese turned Foy around to face him, one hand still on his collar. "We're going to bind you and your friend and leave you both for the police."

"But, I swear, I wasn't going to hurt Steve. I just wanted the coins."

Reese glanced at Finch but there was no sympathy from him. "We'll let you explain things to the detectives. Maybe _they'll_ believe you."

"And Klenk isn't my 'friend'", Foy continued, focused on presenting his case. "I don't really know him. He's just some guy I hired."

"To kill your _nephew_." Reese didn't even try to hide his disgust.

"No! I'm telling you, I didn't. I don't know why Klenk brought that knife. Maybe he always carries it."

Reese turned Foy back around, grabbing one of his arms as he did, pulling it up behind him, and slipping the tie over his hand and down to his wrist. Foy sighed heavily, slumping a little in defeat.

"I never should have hired Klenk for this job. Someone warned me that he's a meth addict."

Reese stopped mid-tie as if frozen. Finch, too, became completely motionless.

"But, he was all I could afford," Foy blathered on, oblivious to the reaction of his two captors.

Reese heard the faintest of noises and whipped his head around to see Klenk standing in the dimly lit hall behind him. Finch, too, turned to look. For one brief moment, the two men stared at the third. Then Klenk, his face twisting once again, reached one hand behind his back. Reese, without thinking, released Foy and grabbed Finch, pushing him against the door. Reese turned his head slightly and saw Foy, now free, turning as Klenk pulled a gun from the waist of his pants. Almost instantly, Foy yelled and turned toward the door. Finding that way blocked he pivoted the other direction and ran toward the front window. At the last minute, he tucked his head and hit the glass with his shoulder, a move that was a respectable imitation of a line backer. The glass shattered and Foy disappeared into the dark.

Klenk, deprived of his target, reacted badly. He let out a blood freezing scream, high and feral, lifting his face toward the ceiling, the gun in his fist apparently forgotten.

Reese pulled Finch away from the door and heaved it open. He all but lifted the smaller man through the opening and pulled him down the hall and out the front door of the building. Back outside, Reese glanced quickly up and down the street. Foy's exit through the window was sure to bring the police. Foy, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"The car's over here." Finch indicated the dark sedan parked across the street and they both headed for it at a run. Finch had barley gotten the passenger side door closed when Reese started to pull the car away from the curb, tires squealing in protest. As he did, Klenk appeared in the brownstone's entrance. The report of the gun seemed almost simultaneous with the sound of a bullet glancing off the car's hood.

"I guess he finally remembered he had a gun." Reese said. His calm tone was in contrast to his handling of the car, keeping it just under control as it veered down the street. Finch, scrunched up against the passenger door from the force of the turns Reese was making the car perform, was working the keypad of his cell phone. Reese, conferenced in as usual, could hear another phone ring twice before it was answered.

"Detective Carter?"

"Finch?"

"Yes, it's me. There are two people we need to have picked up. The first one is Peter Foy. I've sent you his information. He's probably headed to his home right now." He paused as Reese maneuvered the sedan around a cab. "The second one is Howard Klenk. I'll give you the address where…"

"He's behind us," Reese interjected, swerving the car around yet another cab. Glancing at the rear view mirror he clearly saw Klenk in an old convertible, the top down, swerving around the cab as they had.

"Is that you, John?" Carter's voice was suddenly alert. "Who's …_Where_ are you?"

"Are you sure?" Finch asked, ignoring Carter.

They heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet hitting the driver's side view mirror and it exploded, shards of glass and plastic whipping away in the wake of the speeding car.

"Pretty sure." Reese risked the briefest of glances at his passenger. Finch stared at him for a moment, then returned to his call.

"Detective, I'll use this phone to share our location." His conversation cut off as the car screeched around a corner and he had to use both arms to brace himself.

"Finch? Finch?!" Carter was practically yelling, devoid of all decorum.

The car's trajectory straightened out and Finch resumed his call, calmly saying, "Send someone as soon as possible, please. Oh, and Detective? He's a meth addict, so tell them to be careful."

After a few blocks, Reese slowed the car. He hadn't seen the convertible for a few minutes, but he didn't assume that they'd lost their pursuer or that he'd given up. The man was obviously tweaking and was, therefore, completely unpredictable. And, almost as if by design, Reese spotted Klenk's car coming from the other direction. He grabbed the phone from Finch's hands, and, as the two cars came up to one another, he tossed it into the back seat of the convertible and it landed with a thump. Klenk, who had been looking the other way at that moment, whipped his head around and locked eyes with Reese. Klenk's eyes widened and Reese could swear the man snarled.

There was a shudder through the car as another bullet hit. Klenk had managed to get off a shot after he had passed them. An indicator light on the dash board lit up.

"He hit a tire." Reese, lacking the side mirror, quickly glanced back along the side of the car. "We're loosing pressure. We'll have to ditch the car and go to ground until Carter can round this guy up."

"We can't go to one of the safe houses or the library. We can't risk Klenk, _or_ the police, following us there."

Reese nodded his agreement. He noted that Finch's voice was showing signs of strain. Glancing in the rear view mirror, he saw Klenk forcing the convertible across the lanes in an attempt to turn around.

"Hold on," Reese said, this time giving some warning. Gunning the engine, he turned the sedan across the path of the van in the adjacent lane, the now rapidly deflating tire causing the car to move more slowly than Reese would have preferred. The van driver loudly let his opinions be known, throwing in a few gestures for emphasis. Reese aimed the sedan down a narrow side street, then across another major street, just missing a delivery truck, and then turned down an alley. Killing the engine, he threw the door open. "Stay here," he said as he exited the car.

Reese reached the end of the ally in a couple strides and took a quick look around. It was early enough that there were still some pedestrians, couples and small groups going in and out of the various restaurants and bars chatting and laughing. Traffic consisted mostly of cabs picking up and dropping off fares. There was no sign of Klenk's convertible.

Reese turned to look at the immediate surroundings. The ally they were in was dimly lit by one lone light at the other end and there were a couple of dumpsters that could afford some protection. They could probably hide out here, he thought, but if Klenk found them, there'd be a firefight for sure. They needed to get off the streets.

Reese gestured that it was safe to leave the car. He frowned as he watched Finch get out and limp toward him; not that the limp was new, but it was more pronounced. As he got closer, Reese could also see Finch's lips were pressed together from the effort of the short walk and, even in this light, he seemed a little paler.

Reese turned to check the street again. "We have to find a place to hold up. At least until Carter says they have Klenk and Foy in custody." He turned back to look at Finch. "Some place close. I don't think you can do any more running tonight."

"I'm fine, Reese," he said, meeting Reese's eyes and bristling a little.

"No, you're not. And I can't help you keep up and watch for Klenk at the same time."

The two men looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Finally, Finch nodded, acknowledging the truth of Reese's assessment. Reese turned back to look out at the street.

"Don't you have a house or an apartment in this area?" Reese asked. "Maybe another hotel?"

Finch stepped up next to Reese and looked out at the street as well. "No. I don't." He sounded surprised. "I'll have to remedy that."

Reese grinned. Leaning out of the alleyway a little further, he realized he recognized the Irish Pub down near the corner. "Doesn't Sarah live near here?"

Finch became very still and pointedly did not look at Reese.

"Look, Finch, I'm sorry. I know you want to keep her separate from our work," he said, looking at Finch's profile. "I don't like the idea either. But we won't make it to any of the safe houses." He removed his ear bud and retrieved the phone from his pocket. Holding it out to the other man, he said, "You need to call her."

Finch's nod was a quick jerk of his head. He took the phone and dialed Sarah's number while Reese kept an eye out for trouble. It would be really embarrassing to get mugged at this point.

The phone rang a couple of times. Reese was standing close enough he could hear her voice answer sleepily.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's me." Finch relaxed a little. "I'm sorry to wake you – I know you have an early client tomorrow. But, we're in something of a bind. Would you mind company?"

"No. Of course not." Her warm voice seemed pleased. There was a pause. "Wait." she said, sounding a little more awake. "'We?'"

"Yes. John is with me."

"Ah." She sounded fully awake now. "Then I guess I'd better put on some clothes."

Reese turned his head to hide his grin from Finch.

Finch had stiffened again. "We'll be there in about ten minutes," he said and hung up.

"So," Reese said, turning back to him, keeping his expression completely neutral. "She's expecting us?"

* * *

Sarah opened the door and Finch stepped in quickly with Reese on his heels and she closed the door behind them.

"Sarah. Good to see you again." Reese was in full nonchalant mode, as if visiting the apartment of Finch's lover was a regular thing.

"Hello, John." Sarah smiled and Reese had the feeling she knew he was enjoying himself. Her smile faded a little as her eyes flicked over him. Then her attention went to Finch.

Finch, quiet frankly, looked like hell and it wasn't just the condition of his clothes. In the dim light of the street, he'd looked pale and worn. Here, in the warm light of the apartment, his pallor was even more evident and his lips were pressed together in pain.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked him. Reese could hear the concern in her voice.

Finch shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we need to stay here awhile. It might be several hours," he said, facing her.

"No problem. Stay as long as you like," she said softly and reached to gently touch the side of his face – a simple and intimate gesture. Reese turned away slightly, suddenly interested in the large map hanging on the wall next to the door. "You look worn out," she continued. "You both do. Maybe you should get some rest."

"Good idea," Reese said, casually, still looking at the map. "I'll take the couch."

"Why don't you go lie down on the bed?" Sarah said to Finch. From the corner of his eye, Reese could see her lean toward him and even though she lowered her voice, he still heard her say, "I'll even let you sleep." More loudly, she continued, "John, I'll get you a better pillow and a blanket."

As soon as they disappeared down the hall, Reese turned and made a circuit of the rest of the apartment. He was still feeling the adrenaline from the chase and knew from experience that it would be a little while before he would be able to relax. Plus, if he had to be honest with himself, he was curious about the place he knew Finch was spending at least some of his down time. There was a small drop-leaf table with two chairs to one side of the door. Down a short hallway beyond was another door. A quick check confirmed it was the bathroom. He walked past the bookshelf that took up the walls on either side of the entrance to the kitchen, noting that none of the books looked like the ones he'd seen Finch reading at the library. He continued, past the curtained window that looked out over the street below, to the entertainment center that took up the entire wall opposite the bookshelves, glancing at it as he wandered back to the map.

It was, in fact, a road atlas of the United States. He noted that some of the roads, both major and secondary, had been highlighted with different colored markers. Then his eyes wandered over to the photos that took up the rest of the wall. These were mostly group photos, Sarah's smiling face easily picked out from the others; a pictorial history of her co-workers and jobs over the years. He walked back to the entertainment center, intending to check out the shelf of movies and music, when he spotted a lone photo sitting on top of the sub-woofer. Curious, he picked it up.

It was of Sarah, about twenty or twenty-five years old, Reese guessed. The man who was hugging her from behind was probably ten years older. Though they were both smiling for the photograph, there was something in the man's expression that Reese recognized – a haunted look that he'd seen over the years in the eyes of people who had witnessed violent death; people who struggled with inner demons. A look he suspected he saw in Finch's eyes.

A look he'd also seen in the mirror.

Sarah found him still holding the photo when she reappeared with the promised bedding. She paused briefly, glancing at the frame in his hands. Then she set the pillow and blanket on the end of the couch and turned to him, her expression unreadable.

"Drink?"

Reese smiled his acceptance. He put the photo back on the speaker and followed her into the kitchen. He nodded at the bottle she pulled from one of the cabinets and she poured several fingers of the amber liquid into a short glass and put the bottle back.

"You're not joining me?"

Leaning her hip against the counter, Sarah shook her head. "I've got an early morning client and I've found I don't recover from drinking as fast as I used to. But," she gestured to the small dining table behind him, "I'll sit and keep you company for awhile, if you don't mind." She led him to the table and sat on one of the chairs, moving the cell phone that was lying on the table top to one side. "I want to give Harold a chance to get to sleep."

Reese joined her. "I'm sorry to disrupt your night." He paused. "And for intruding."

A slow smile crept on her face, an acknowledgement of what he meant. "That's okay. I know you two wouldn't do it if wasn't necessary." Her smile faded a little. Looking down, she picked up the phone and moved it from one hand to the other several times. When she met his gaze again, the smile was gone and there was a small frown line between her brows. "I've a favor to ask."

"Sure, if I can."

"A few months ago, I didn't hear from Harold for over a two weeks. At first, I figured it was just one of those times when you two were particularly busy. It had happened before and I wouldn't hear from him for a few days. But, after a week of no contact, not even a text, I got worried." She looked back down at the phone. "Then I realized that, if something horrible had happened…if he'd been killed, there would be no way for me to know. I've brought it up with him, asking if there could be a way…" she paused, running a hand through her hair. "I don't have any illusions that Harold and I will be together indefinitely. But, I don't want to have him just disappear from my life and not know."

Reese looked down at the glass in his hands. He knew that Finch would not have told her about Root and what had happened. He thought of all of the other times he and Finch had come close to 'disappearing'. Looking back up at her, he was startled by what he saw in her grey eyes – something he hadn't seen there on their previous encounters, as if an old wound had flared up again. After a moment, he nodded his understanding. "You'd want closure."

"Yes. Exactly." She relaxed a little, tilted her head and smiled. "I'd want to know about you, too, so that I could at least raise a glass in your honor."

Reese smiled. "You promise?"

Her smile widened to a grin. "Promise. Hell, John, if you can somehow get me the word, I'll throw you a good old fashioned wake. You could even tell me who to invite."

Reese ginned back. "It's a deal," he said, raising his glass in salute and downing the contents.

They stayed at the table a little while longer, Reese asking about the map and the significance of the marks on it; the photos on the wall and the people in them. He did not ask about the one on the speaker.

After awhile she glanced at her cell phone, checking the time.

"Well, he should be asleep by now. And I've got to get some sleep, myself." She reached over to put her hand on his. "Please be careful, John. And keep Harold safe." Cell phone in hand, she pushed her chair back and he watched her walk down the hall to her bedroom.

Reese took his glass to the kitchen and put it in the sink. Back in the living room, he turned off the light, grabbed the pillow and stretched out on the couch, loosening his gun in its holster. Lying in the dark, he listened to the sounds of the apartment - the low hum of the refrigerator, the faint noise of the traffic in the street below - getting a feel for their rhythms. He was reasonably sure they were safe there, but he also knew that his years of having to sleep lightly would keep him from being surprised. Just as he was dropping off, his eyes popped open at a sound. Was that a quickly stifled laugh? After a moment, Reese grinned and closed his eyes again.

Finch must be awake, after all.

* * *

"_Zitten_," Reese said and then bent over to remove the leash from Bear's collar. He pulled a small towel from his pocket and wiped the droplets from the dog's back, a souvenir from the light rain they'd encountered on their late morning walk. Before straightening, Reese slipped him a treat and scratched his ears. "_Goede hond_."

Man and dog continued their walk down the hallway and into the computer room. Finch, sitting in front of the monitors, looked up at the two companions as they entered. The glass divider was devoid of its usual photos and news articles, making it seem naked.

"No new cases?" Reese asked as he walked over to stand next to the computer table, Bear settling into his usual spot near Finch's feet.

"Not at the moment," the other man replied, turning back to the monitors. "Carter and Fusco cleaned up last night's case. It seems that Foy told Klenk about one of the less valuable coins, trying to prep him for the fake appraiser scam. Klenk used the internet to look up information on the coin and discovered its real worth. That's when he contacted one of his acquaintances about finding a buyer."

"So, Foy was the victim, after all."

Finch nodded, still looking at the monitor. Curious, Reese stepped around behind him to see what he was watching. It was a video feed of a news story. The reporter was saying that a young college student had just discovered that the coin collection he'd recently inherited contained some very rare items. Wilson was standing next to an older man in a business suit and the two of them were holding the mahogany coin case between them, smiling for the cameras. Both men looked pleased, but Wilson's smile was by far the widest.

"That was quick work," Reese said, "getting him in touch with a legitimate appraiser."

"I thought it would be best. That way he wouldn't have someone else trying to take advantage of him."

The story ended and Finch stood up to look at Reese. "Thanks for taking Bear for his walk."

Reese shrugged. "Actually, I was glad that you hadn't been in yet. You needed the rest." Ignoring Finch's studied blank look, he looked down at the dog and smiled. "Besides, I enjoy the walks." In fact he used the time to think about what he and Sarah had talked about. He wondered, now, how he would broach the subject.

"John, I need to discuss something with you."

Reese looked up, surprised. Finch shifted his weight from one foot to the other, apparently uncomfortable and hesitant to continue.

"What is it, Harold?"

Finch looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up at Reese.

"Sarah… asked me to set up an alert system to be triggered in the event of one or both of our deaths. I've been thinking that, maybe, we might want others to know, as well. I wondered if you would have any objections."

The two men looked at each other in silence for several moments. Then Reese, smiling a little, said, "I was trying to figure out how to bring up that same subject."

Finch blinked once. "Sarah spoke to you."

"She did."

"And you're okay with it. The alert, I mean."

"Yes."

Finch relaxed a little. "I'm surprised. Given your concerns about security breeches, I wasn't sure you'd be accepting of the idea."

Reese nodded. "You're right. Normally, I want to avoid anything that could leave a trail back to us," he said. "But, I've realized that I like the idea that someone would know we were gone."

Finch nodded and sat back down at the table. "That just leaves the question of who you want to be informed," he said as he started typing.

Reese smiled at Finch's switch from discomfort to problem solving. He pulled a chair over to the computer table and sat down. "Carter. Maybe she could take Bear," he said as the dog sat up and put his head on his lap. Reese thought for a moment as he scratched the hound's ear. "Fusco." Reese mentioned a couple more names – his chess partner, Mr. Han.

Leon.

Finch smiled wryly at the name of their proverbial Bad Penny. "Probably a good idea. That way he'll know we won't be there to save him again."

"Would there be a way to let Sarah who the others are on the list?"

Finch stopped typing to look at him, eyebrow raised.

"She promised me a wake."

There was a small twitch at one corner of Finch's mouth. "I'm not surprised."

Finch resumed typing. Reese knew that, whatever Finch set up, it wouldn't be traceable before it was triggered.

After that, of course, he wouldn't care.

"How about Ms. Morgan?"

Reese, having been lost in his thoughts, looked up to find Finch gazing at him pointedly. He returned the look for a moment and then smiled.

Of course he knew.

Finch, looking smug, turned back to the key board.


End file.
